


Life in a Rosy Hue

by doc_boredom



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Angst with a Happy Ending, Car Accidents, Florists, Fluff and Angst, Head Injury, M/M, Minor Violence, drug and alcohol reference, it's for the plot babes, lots of fucking with canon but it's still kind of there if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-29 06:20:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20077552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doc_boredom/pseuds/doc_boredom
Summary: Richie Tozier's entire life is changed when he throws a rock through the window of Kaspbrak's Florals on a drunk and flimsy dare, as is Eddie's when he decides to take matters into his own hands by taking him on to pay his debts off.-Written for the IT Reverse Big Bang with the prompt of "Richie and Eddie are standing in a flower shop. Eddie is putting a flower in Richie’s hair. They are both blushing and smiling at each other. Many different flowers and plants surround them." by Lanylevendula !





	1. Chapter 1

-Richie- 

Richie Tozier’s life changed because of a stupid rock.

It was fist sized. Smooth and gray; unremarkable really. A downright embarrassment to rock kind if he was being honest with himself. Not even the slosh of alcohol inside his veins could excuse the overall unimpressiveness of what was no more than an oversized pebble.

But God, did it ever fuck up the window of Kaspbrak’s Florals in the most spectacular of ways as it flew from his palm.

Richie was surprised he could even  _ hear _ the shattering over the victory shrieks Henry and Patrick issued in response, but it was  _ inexplicably _ loud. Deafening in the too still night of Derry, Maine, as it began to rain glitter down on all the fine petals on display. A racket for the record books, a cacophony for the ages. Even inebriated, his brain was quick and clever, eager to make it momentous in his memories.

A disbelieving laugh began to climb up Richie’s throat as he stared at the damage, only half seeing it.  _ Ho-lee shit. _ He had really gone and done that, hadn’t he? Crossed some kind of rebellious threshold that you really only saw in 80s movies. Fuck.  _ Fuck _ . 

He opened his mouth to maybe say that, or maybe just spew his guts up, but Henry’s arm was coming up around him before he could, his breath hot against his ear as he began to shout. “ _ Toezy-eh-heh-heh! _ Lewkit you, bud! Fuckin’ look at  _ you! _ ”

He was slurring his words, unsurprisingly. Doing that stupid thing where he pulled out Richie’s last name the wrong way, the way Richie  _ hated _ , as his grip became unknowingly tight across his throat. Or maybe it  _ was _ knowingly. Who the fuck knew when it came to Henry Bowers. Their “friendship” was a jagged one, just like the remnants of glass lining the window sill. Fueled by intoxicants, bad decisions, and a few too close encounters with the police. It was a thing of convenience over consideration, if Richie had to put some kind of label to it. 

Trouble just waiting to happen.

A ticking time bomb.

Patrick replied with a baying noise of pleasure on Richie’s behalf when the silence stretched on for too long, his grip scary loose on the bottle of Jim Beam they had plucked from Keene’s drug store shelves hours beforehand. And then he started to dance the only way he knew how, wild and wheeling, twitching his limbs violently under the street lights as he mumbled excited lyrics to himself. “Idiot!” Richie barked at Patrick when he nearly hit the concrete face first before finding his footing once more. “Get off it!”

“Get off!” Patrick spluttered back with an extremely obscene gesture, getting Richie to laugh despite himself. “Good one, Toezy-eh!”

“Yeah, good one!” Henry released him with a hard push, nearly propelling Richie into the very mess he had made. He wasn’t enough drunk to let himself take the fall, but he wasn’t sober enough to school his features into something less than contempt either as he came back up again. Henry, however, was a million miles away from them, and thank God for that. Head tipped back to the stars, his mouth slack with drunken pleasure, gone gone gone. “Fuckin’ good one, Dickie.” The words all but exploded out of him as he whipped his head towards Richie. “Fuckin’ fuck yeah. Hell yeah!” 

The older boy turned on Patrick and ripped the bottle from his grip, throwing it back so violently that it came as a surprise that any of it ended up in his mouth. Henry managed though, impressing Richie until he decided to dash it against the ground with a guttural howl. “Okay, we get it.” Richie rolled his eyes, irritation growing as he watched how the liquid spread across the concrete between the shards of glass. “Can we go now?”

Henry eyed him, surprisingly lucid for how drunk he ought to be. “Whuz got you’n such a rush? Ya already skipped curfew, Toezy-eh. Whuz a few more hours with yer best friends’n’such? The night’s jus gettin’ started.” He took a slumping step forward to Richie, his boots crunching over the glass. It was a horrific sound, more so than the window breaking somehow, gritting and grinding in protest before giving away under Henry’s foot. 

“Henry.” Richie started, hating how his voice shook slightly, but Henry was actually pivoting away from him, aiming towards the store on drunken feet. “Fuck, Bowers, c’mon-”

He stopped at the lack of window, staring beyond the ruined flowers to the inside of the store with his head half tilted, as if studying it to find the best way to approach. But he wouldn’t, Richie tried to reassure himself. Bowers wouldn’t be  _ that  _ stupid. Wouldn’t be that much of a bastard man no matter how tempting it seemed.

And then he went and did it, of course, because that’s just how it worked.

“Henry!” Richie hissed in disbelief. There was a difference between shoplifting cigarettes and sneaking into bars versus breaking and entering into someone’s damn shop. The closest thing to this had been when they had hotwired Adrian Mellon’s car and drove it to the Barrens in the middle of the night, where Patrick and Henry did lines of coke off the armrest while Richie watched them as he smoked a joint instead. His stomach had been in knots then and it was in even tighter ones now, making it near impossible to move, to breathe even.

He watched as Patrick launched himself into the store like some kind of crazed hurdlist seconds later, clearing the broken glass by mere inches only to crush those poor flowers under his feet, giving an uncaring laugh. Fuck.  _ Fuck.  _ Suddenly it wasn’t so epic anymore. This was  _ bad. _ “Guys! Come on!” They had to have some kind of alarm system in there. Cameras. Something that was going to get them caught. “Get out of there!”

It could be as easy as leaving them, a selfish and cowardly part of him couldn’t help but think. Henry and Patrick weren’t his responsibilities. They were barely his fucking friends. And there was the fact that they wouldn’t do this for him if their positions were switched. They’d let Richie straight up crash and burn if it meant saving their skin.

But Richie couldn’t drag his eyes from the flowers, the glass. He had given them the means. He had thrown that damn rock. “Fuck.” He groaned under his breath, hating his conscience as it forced himself to step over the sill and into the store. He gave himself just one moment of silence and stillness after his feet touched the ground, taking it all in. It was quaint with it’s shining blond wood floors and spring green walls, a relic of a Derry you almost didn’t see anymore... 

And the flowers! He never knew there could be so many different ones. Richie could name roses and daisies on a good day, sunflowers and tulips too, but there were hundreds more in here. Some of them were like fireworks mid bloom, others like watercolor brush strokes upon the world. He paused to touch one, sunshine bright, trying to figure out if it was more trumpetlike or teacup when he heard an awful, heavy sound.

“Dude.” Patrick delighted from the other room, drawing Richie to the nearest rose bouquet so he could spy on them without being seen. They were standing over the till at the counter, Patrick digging through it as Henry put down a heavy looking stone vase on the ground. “We’re gonna be rich.”

“This isn’t more than five hundred dollars, you fucking spazz.” Henry told him, his lip curling back with disgust. “What’re we gonna buy with five hundred dollars, huh?”

“Drugs.” Patrick told him simply, too pleased for his own good. 

Without warning, Henry drew his arm back and cracked Patrick straight across the face, so hard Patrick’s head snapped to the side as blood sprayed out of his mouth. Richie’s stomach pitched with it but he didn’t dare move from his spot. Once. Something like this had happened one other time. Except it had been the flat of Henry’s knife against Patrick’s jaw, Henry’s hand amazingly steady on the handle despite the cocktail of drugs inside him as he threatened to carve Patrick’s eyes out for no particular reason at all.

Hocksetter, to his credit, didn’t so much whimper or even cry out. He almost seemed to smile to himself as he straightened back up. It had been like that with the knife too. There had been something in his eyes, something like silent wanting…

Bad, bad,  _ bad _ .

“Go and find the safe. The rest of it has to be in there. Then we’ll have drug money, yeah?” It was all fun and games until you robbed a store, Richie told himself, trying to make light of the situation (only managing to make it worse inside his head.) He just had to get back to the window, to the outside, and he’d be gone like a thief in the night. Except he’d be the exact opposite of a thief. An anti-thief. A rock thrower, sure, but no god damn burglar. 

Fuck, he hated his brain sometimes.

Apparently his body was feeling left out of the hate-fest too though because the moment he moved back a step his foot found the loudest, squeakiest floorboard in all of Kaspbrak’s Florals and pressed down, causing Henry to look up with a smile, nice and slow. “That you Toezy-eh?” He called out despite already having to know. “Why don’t you come and help us, bud?”

He opened his mouth just like before, except it wasn’t an arm that cut him off this time...

...It was sirens, red and blue and  _ loud _ .

Henry moved terrifyingly fast, shoving whatever he could grab from the till down the front of his shorts, knocking quarters and pennies to the floor. “Patrick!” He roared. “Cop’s are here, let’s go!” 

Patrick barreled out from the back office, whipping his head back and forth until he found Richie still crouching there. He kept telling himself to move, to speak, to do anything but just stay there, but the image of of Henry slapping Patrick wouldn’t leave him, just like the threat of the knife, or the way the bottle smashed across the ground.

“Snitch.” Patrick said in a deathly calm voice as their eyes met. He still had blood on his lip, his chin, and it made for a horrifying picture alongside his too pale skin and greasy dark hair. “You’re dead.”

“Now don’t get ahead of yourself, Patrick.” Henry was still wearing his predator’s grin, making his way near. The police were close enough now where their sirens were deafening, their lights flashing sporadically off the walls. “I think Toezy-eh here is gonna do us one more solid. Take one for the team, if you will.”

“Henry.” Richie rasped, almost out of breath. The knife, oh God, please not the knife. Anything but that. He’d take Henry’s fist in his face, his gut, his balls over that rusting knife coming anywhere near him.

Henry leaned down and picked something up off the floor, surprising Richie for the second time that night. The rock, Richie realized as the light painted him blood red. He had the damn rock. The same rock that had broken the window by his hand, that had no right looking as threatening as it did now.

Fist sized.

Smooth and gray.

Unremarkable.

An embarrassment to all rock kind.

“I owe ya one.” Henry told him sweetly before he brought it down.

*

The world swam in and out of focus, impossible to latch on to. Richie saw fluorescents, pock marked ceilings, his mother and father’s faces staring down at him with worry and grief.

Sometimes, he saw flowers.

Sometimes, he saw a boy he had never met before.

But mostly it was darkness.

Again and again.

*

He had a borderline depressed skull fracture and they had shaved half of his head to put seven staples in.

It was hard for Richie not to touch his scalp reflexively, his fingers going to the near bare skin, absently touching what stubble was there. A few times, his mother slapped his hand away, other times, she’d touch it too.

His dad kept joking about it, of course. 

“This is what all the kids are doing now, Maggie. Side cuts, undercuts, high cuts and low cuts.” Wentworth gave her a winning smile. “It’s hip, it’s in!”

“Yeah, what dad said.” When they had found them there had been blood, and lots of it. A fact that a training nurse had let slip to his poor mother during his first check up. “I’m hip now.”

Maggie blew out a teary, exasperated breath and waved them off, focusing her stare to the window beyond. They hadn’t really talked about it yet. Why he had been there, what had happened.

Why five hundred dollars was missing from the Kaspbrak’s register and nowhere to be found.

Richie sighed and settled back into the hospital bed. They’d be releasing him soon, and then it would be right to the police station before he even found his way back home. They had questions for him. Questions he still didn’t know how to answer despite thinking about them every hour on the hour in this too small room. 

It was clear Henry wanted him to take the fall. 

It was clear he was going to end up the loser in this situation unless he told the truth.

It was clear he’d die if he did. The staples in his skin were proof of that fact.

Therefore, nothing was actually, really clear.

“I’m sorry.” He said, because at this point it was really the only other thing he could say. His parents shouldn’t have ever gotten this call at 2 AM. Shouldn’t have had to hear the doctor discuss the side effects and symptoms he’d be experiencing over the next few weeks, months even. Slurred speech, random bleeding from his eyes and nose, even more random bouts of unconsciousness. 

He almost asked if hallucinations were part of that too, remembering the solemn looking boy above his bed between the flowers and the dark, but he kept that thought to himself. 

“We know you are, Richie.” His mother told him as her hand found his scalp again, her fingers cool against his temple as she stroked the skin there. “We know.”

*

The Derry Police station was yet another remnant of another time. It was a thing made for the quiet rustling of paperwork and the deep sighs of those who had to pour over it. They didn’t even cuff him to the chair when they set him up with the interrogation. Just let him lounge there awkwardly next to his family's attorney until the second officer came in and took the chair to his left.

“Richard Toezey-ehr.” The first officer started casually after reading him his rights, something Richie never thought he’d hear outside of a movie or TV show, paging through a folder that probably had all sorts of awful stuff waiting inside about him.

“Haven’t heard that one before.” Richie cut in before he could help himself, the jackass in him eager to make itself known. His attorney’s head whipped to him and he blanched as he curled his toes inside his tennis shoes, dipping his head towards his lap as a meek “it’s Toes-er, sir.” came out right after.

Richie glanced up just in time to see the officer give him a sideways smirk. “Richard Toes-er then. My apologies.” He didn’t really sound all that sorry... “How’re you feeling?”

As good as I can with seven staples in my head, bub. God, was he ever tempted to just lay that one out, but this is how this whole song and dance worked. They were looking for an excuse, to pin him so something could come out that shouldn’t. So Richie simply touched his head instead and waggled his hand in front of him in a ‘so-so’ kind of motion. “I think I finally know what my mom’s migraines must feel like, if we’re being honest here.”

The attorney cleared her throat, but he didn’t feel  _ as _ guilty about that one.

“Well. That’s good.” He was laying paper by paper out across the table and Richie couldn’t help but peek at them. There were a few write ups from his school, a few speeding tickets too. Nothing god awful. Not yet, at least. “So you’re eighteen years old, turning nineteen in a few months. Average grades. What’s the plan for after the summer’s done?”

“Bangor Community College for my Liberal Arts. A job if I can find one.”

“Your parents paying for it?”

“Yup.”

“That’s nice of them.”

“Better that than some psuedo-Ivy League that’s gonna land me behind the counter at Mickey Dee’s with hundred of thousands of dollars in debt given the current state of the economy, sir.”

The second officer made an amused sound under his breath at that, brown eyes squinching shut. Small victories. He’d take them where he could. It’d take more to get this first one to crack though. And that was fine. Richie liked a challenge. “That’s fair, that’s fair. Smart too. You seem like you’re a decent kid, Richard.” The officer told him. “That’s why this is coming as such a surprise to everyone here, if we’re being completely honest.”

But he  _ wasn’t _ a decent kid. Not with his banged up converses and ripped jean jacket that definitely had a few spliffs sewn into a secret pocket on the inside of it, not with Patrick and Henry’s tied into him. He drew in a slow breath and touched his scalp again, tempted to let the metal bite into his fingertips, realizing belatedly that the action had already become a habit. “So how’d you end up in Kaspbrak’s Florals with your head busted in, Rich?”

“Excuse me, officer. That’s an inappropriate question.” The attorney hissed. He didn’t even know this poor woman’s name. She was dressed to the nines, the complete opposite to him, the golden buttons on her navy blazer winking under the harsh light. “He doesn’t have to answer that right now.”

“It’s obvious this wasn’t a one person act.” The younger officer said in a gentle voice, apparently the good cop of this situtation. “If Richard was some kind of Good Samaritan, we can convey that to the judge appropriately.”

She bent over the table, putting Richie behind her. “Oh, I’m real sure that’s what you want to do, gentlemen. Listen. We, meaning Richie’s doctors, the judge that will be presiding over this, and your supervisors all agreed that this ‘interrogation’ isn’t going to go a second over an hour for his health and safety. You’ve got forty five minutes left. I say we do ourselves all a favor and cut this short before he starts bleeding out of his mouth, alright?”

Holy. 

Shit.

She wasn’t done, apparently.

She straightened her papers on the table loudly, her brows pulling down. “This is a non-custodial interview. Not an interrogation, may I remind you. We can go whenever we so please. So unless you have something of interest, we will kindly take our leave and see you at the hearing.” 

The older officer flapped his mouth like a fish. “Miss…”

“Marsh. Beverly Marsh.” Oh, so Miss Red got to be all kinds of sassy and smart, did she? Richie saw how this game was being played now. He kept his head bent though, doing his best to hide his shit eating grin. “How can I help you?” 

“Someone… wanted to speak to Richard… before he left.” The younger one piped up abruptly, causing Beverly to raise a slim eyebrow.

“Who?” She drawled, not having it.

He swallowed and opened his mouth, unable to hide the amazed expression on his face as he faced her. “The owner’s son… Eddie Kaspbrak.”

“Oh.”

Beverly looked at him and he looked at her, both of them seeming to realize they had both uttered that soft exclamation of disbelief into the air. “That isn’t… I don’t think…” She started, biting down her lip. “I don’t think that’s necessarily allowed.”

“Well, you said it yourself. This is a non-custodial interview. The usual rules don’t really apply here.” The older officer informed her with a smirk, presumably pleased with how the tables had turned. Poor lady, Richie thought as she stiffened up. She didn’t look too much older than him either. This had to be hard. “Eddie was just hoping to see who got knocked out in his father’s store is all.”

“He can use the internet, like everyone else.” Beverly snapped as she stood up, dragging Richie up by the back of his jacket without even warning him, surprisingly strong. “We’re done. We’ll be in touch about Richie’s hearing.” She informed them briskly, looking very much done.

“But if there didn’t have to be a hearing?” A soft voice called from the doorway, grabbing his attention. “What if we can just settle this right here, right now?”

Richie turned and saw him. 

Eddie Kaspbrak.

The boy from his dreams in his hospital bed.


	2. Chapter 2

-Eddie-

His mother was going to kill him if she found out what he was doing under her nose.

There was  _ literally _ no reason for him to be here in the Derry Police Department, just as there had been no reason for him to be at Richie Tozier’s hospital bed a week ago. But there were no take backs when it came to bad decisions, and Eddie Kaspbrak was becoming intimately familiar with them.

He fiddled with his right sleeve awkwardly, hating how everyone was now looking at him. “We weren’t expecting you quite yet, Edward.” The older officer announced suddenly, the first to break the silence, not sounding too pleased with the fact. “But come on in.”

Richie’s eyes were the size of dinner plates in his pale face as Eddie took a few steps forward, made worse by the glasses he decided to wear. He looked so much different from how he had in his hospital bed, Eddie realized silently. No longer fragile, but somehow more definite. “Glad to see you’re alive.” He started with, not quite sure where else to go now that he was here.

“You and me both, bud.” Richie said, still staring at him. “Though I’m not quite sure why on both counts.” 

Eddie didn’t miss the way Richie’s attorney stepped on his foot, effectively silencing him. She offered Eddie her most beautiful smile then before extending her right hand, each nail perfectly trimmed, french tipped. “Mr. Kaspbrak-” She began, not unkindly.

He stared at it, feeling something sick and vile crawl up his throat. “Mr. Kaspbrak was my father and my father’s dead.” Eddie announced suddenly, surprising even himself.

And no one was ready for that either. He saw the way the older officer’s nostrils flared, the younger boy’s brown skin going pale as his teeth clicked shut. Bev’s smile wilted like an unwatered flower, and Richie… 

Richie was pressing his lips together, ducking his head, shoulders shaking with the effort to not laugh out loud. It was a relief, in a strange way, to elicit that kind of response. “It’s okay.” Eddie said to him, beginning to smile himself despite the circumstances. “You can laugh. It’s meant to be a joke.” Just a bit of black humor to get himself through the thought.

“A god awful one!” Richie guffawed in reply, covering his mouth. “Good lord! I wasn’t ready for that.”

The nervousness inside of Eddie loosened at the sound. He didn’t care that everyone else still looked vaguely uncomfortable, or that that earlier awfulness still lingered inside his mind. Richie thought it was funny, and for some reason, that made him happy. 

Happier than he had been in a long time.

“Eddie.” Bev tried again, amending herself. “My apologies.” It helped that her hand was at her side now, thankfully nowhere near him. “It’s um, very unusual to see someone such as yourself... that is to say, someone involved with a case on the opposite side… The vic- erm, complataint.” She was struggling, still put off by his earlier comment. 

“I think what Bev’s trying to say is what the fuck were you going on about before.”

Eddie’s eyes found Richie, immediately tracing the shape of the scar. There wasn’t even a bandaid to hide the seven staples there, no effort made to hide the strange and unsettling sight. There were dark circles under his eyes as well, and something to be said about the way he slouched… 

God, his mother was really going to kill him if she figured it out.

He decided to dive in head first, not looking back. “...You work for us, pay off the damages… We call it even from there.”

You could hear a pin drop in the silence that followed. So quiet it hurt, to the point where his ears were straining with it. “Eddie.” The older cop shoved his chair back and stood, shaking his head frantically. “It doesn’t work like that.” 

“If we choose to drop the case, then it can. All the damages were on private property.” He glanced Bev’s way, finding her staring at him with a newfound appreciation, albeit confusion as well. Eddie swallowed and continued, knowing better than to not look at Richie again until he was done. “Beverly, you can speak to my mom’s lawyer-”

“And where is Sonya, Eddie? What’s your mother got to say in all of this?” He resisted the urge to roll his eyes, the fingers of his left fist clenching up instead as the cop spoke down to him. “I don’t think she’d be real happy to hear that you’re offering to let Richie here work in your dad’s shop.”

For what seemed like the longest moment of his life, Eddie had been sure that the floor was moments away from opening up from underneath him, ready to swallow him whole; but Richie spoke up, his words near acidic as he spit them at the older man. “You really going to bring the guy’s dead dad into this, sir? Come on.” He had his teeth bared, like some kind of wild animal, his eyes narrowed dangerously. “Don’t guilt trip him like that.” 

“You watch your mouth, son. You seem to forget where you are.” He growled back. 

How had they ended up here? It had been a stupid idea, sure, but it shouldn’t have caused them to reach this point. It had come to Eddie in a day dreaming state, a couple days after seeing Richie in that bed, no more than skin and bones and staples in his head. 

He had gone there originally to see who had ruined his father’s shop and legacy, the place where he felt most at peace, the place where he had grown up happy and loved. He had been so ready to hate him, to rage at him until he woke up.

And then he had seen the way Richie’s head listed to the side upon the hospital pillow, his lashes fanning out like aster petals across his cheekbones...

Something had clicked in that moment. Not quite sympathy, but not quite pity either. It was understanding. Because he had been there in that hospital bed months ago, almost a year at this point. For days and weeks following the incident, for something he almost no control over.

Everyone was arguing now but Richie had pulled back to look at him, tousled curls falling over his eyes, his expression completely unreadable. “There’s nothing saying I can’t change my mind.” Eddie told them as he glanced away, his voice painfully soft. He wanted to big, be brave, be the things Frank had been, but it was nearly impossible. “It’ll be like community service. He can just get a head start.”

He needed to know who this boy was, whose blood stained his floors. He just couldn’t get the mystery of Richie Tozier out of his head. “I think-” Beverely said, putting herself at the head of the situation. “That would be a wonderful idea, Eddie.” She gave both officer’s a tight lipped smile before tipping her head towards the door, effectively closing the conversation out. “Have your lawyer call me, if you’re serious about it. We’ll see if we can make this idea work. But… for now, it appears as though Richie’s allocated time is up.” 

If Richie was a wolf, then Bev was a shark. Subtle and sleek and dangerous as she moved under all of them, too fast to keep up with. She went about throwing the curtain of red hair she had over her shoulder, simultaneously picking all her papers up. “Thank you again for your time today, gentlemen.” So soon? Had it really slipped away that fast? Eddie could feel Richie still staring after him, probably trying to figure just what the fuck he was going on about. There really was no reason he ought to be doing this. It’d be easier to let the police take care of it, sue for damages, wash the floors clean and call it a day… 

But he couldn’t.

He just couldn’t let it go until he found out exactly what had happened that night in his father’s shop.

Richie went to move and Eddie moved his body in tandem, heart leaping up into his throat. Just say it. Say ‘can we talk’, say ‘can you come now so we can file your paperwork’. They were just words, but they were weighty and he was still off balance from everything before. Besides, the officer’s were approaching him, neither of them looking too happy with the fact. 

Soon. If it worked out, he’d be seeing Richie soon.

-Richie-

[B]illiam Today 4:45 PM

I swear to God, if you ended up in jail...

Richie-Bo-Bitchie Today at 4:45 PM

pshaw! im a free man, baby!

-play freebird

Jukebox Today at 4:45 PM

|Now playing   
|Freebird - FULL VERSION LIVE [@Richie-Bo-Bitchie]  
  


[B]illiam Today 4:45 PM

Fuck off. You’re so annoying.   
-stop

How are we talking right now? 

How are you not incarcerated?

Is there a secret mafia in Derry?

How much did you give them to get you out?

Richie-Bo-Bitchie Today 4:46 PM

okay first of all, it doesnt work like that. arent you going to an ivy league??? arent you supposed to be smarter than this????

second of all,  _ maybe _ if you visited good ol’ Derry, you would have the connections i have! you never know when youll need a mafia bail out.

third of all, billy, do i have a story to tell you. get on the VC for real, bitch.

[B]illiam Today 4:47 PM

Not if you’re going to use that tone with me, mister.

Richie-Bo-Bitchie Today at 4:47 PM

D:< 

[B]illiam Today 4:48 PM

Okay, okay! Give me a second. I gotta get my headphones.

Richie-Bo-Bitchie Today 4:48 PM

ARE YOU TELLING ME YOU CUT OFF FREEBIRD AND YOU WEREN’T EVEN LISTNEING TO IT??!?!?!?!1

BTICH

wow friendship over 

im  _ this _ close to blocking you wtf 

[B]illiam Today 4:48 PM

3-2-1. I’m calling… now! 

“R-Richie.” 

Bill’s voice sounded as clear as day even with his stutter over his computer speakers, reaching him from a hundred thousand miles away. He settled back into his bed, propping laptop up further on his lap. “Y-you can hueh-hear me, right?”

“Aye-aye, captain. How are you this fine afternoon?”  
“Oh, suh-so we’re stuh-starting with m-me, huh?” Bill hummed, sounding amused. “Alright, alright-t.”

Before Henry and Patrick there had been Bill Denbrough, who had come into his life by means of the internet, on what Richie told everyone was Club Penguin but was really a chat group for independent horror movies. Five years ago they had both been about ready to start high school on completely different sides of the continent with only each other as backup, and now here they were, still miles and miles away from each other but still the closest of friends.

“It’s h-h-hot, Richie.” Bill confessed, moaning with the fact. “I th-thought I’d be used t-to it by n-nuh-now, but it’s nuh-nuh-nuh…” Bill paused and sighed to himself. 

“Never ending?” Richie supplied helpfully.

“Y-yeah, that.”

“Well, you  _ did _ decide to go with Stanford instead of popping out this way, bud.” Richie told him as he began to check his other discord notifications, only half reading them over his crooked glasses, trying not to itch at his scalp. “But fuck the east coast, right?”

“T-trade places w-wuh-with me?” There was some kind of conversation going on behind him. Maybe he was walking somewhere, or maybe he was in his dorm’s common ground. “N-no, wait, I don’t wuh-want a cr-crim-criminal record. Pass.”

“Fuck off.” He told Bill, ignoring the way he laughed. It was still a sore spot with everything that had happened, not to mention today’s events… “Okay, okay. You ready? Story time.” Richie cleared his throat then, putting on his best announcer’s voice as he began to tell the tale. “It starts in the police station, where myself and my attorney are sitting under the interrogation light, and the police are staring us down from across the table trying to get me to confess.”

Bill sighed in the space Richie had created for him, knowing it was his duty to respond. “A-an-yand-yand w-what did you d-do, Rich?” He supplied, being a good sport and playing into it for Richie’s sake.

“Well I told ‘em they could go fuck themselves, of course.” Richie snorted before shaking his head, full well knowing Bill couldn’t see it. “No, no. My attorney goes at their throats, Bill. You shoulda seen it. She just hits them with all this legal jargon and sass and we’re this close to just yeeting out of there-”

“Duh-don’t s-suh-say ‘yeet’ out loud, y-you freak.”

“Okay, we get it, you’re getting a BA in English.” Richie groused.

Bill gasped dramatically in response. “It’s not E-ying-nglish. It’s Cruh-cruh...”

“Sorry, sorry. Creative writing. My bad.” Richie rolled his eyes. “But get this, the cops suddenly go ‘someone wants to see you’ and neither of us knows what to do.” He remembered feeling panicked in that moment, as out of control as he had the very night this had all started, this close to breaking down. “But guess who walks in, unannounced.”

“The shop oh-owner!” Bill blurted excitedly, catching him off guard.

“...How’d you-”

Bill gave a small snort, cutting him off. “W-wuh-well, who else cuh-could it be, Rich?”

He had a point. “Touche. Well, actually, that’s not completely correct. It’s the shop owner’s kid, Eddie Kaspbrak.” He heard Bill make a noise of interest, but otherwise he stayed completely quiet, letting Richie continue on. Somewhere along the way he had lost the kitschy announcer voice and now he was speaking in a reserved tone, voice falling to a hush. “Remember how I said I thought I was experiencing hallucinations, Bill?”

“...Y-yeah?”

“I saw him, at the hospital. He was there, and now he’s in the police station and-” Richie drew in a deep breath, pushing his glasses up onto the crown of his head. “He says ‘work the damage off.’”

“WHAT!?” A few annoyed sounds followed Bill’s sudden outburst, but even that couldn’t get Richie to laugh. “Wha-wha-what do you mean, work the duh-duh-damage off?”

“I don’t know! His lawyer has to speak to my lawyer, and I don’t even know if that covers the money part.” He dropped his voice, nervous now that his parent’s may be listening in. Even they didn’t know the full story yet. They were too scared to push him, his mother mostly, worried that it would trigger some kind of response.

“You knuh-know, this cuh-cuh-could all be e-yeez-asily solved if you j-juh-just told the truh-truth, Rich.” Bill chastised him firmly. 

“Legislation moves like molasses here, Bill. Patrick and Henry would be stalking me in the streets for months until they ended up trial.” Beverly had more or less told his parents that about his own situation when they had all sat down together for the first time, trying to reassure them that this wouldn’t be something that happened over night. “You don’t get it.”

“I-yi-yi told you nuh-not… not…!” It was obvious Bill was getting upset now, his words getting shorter and sharper with each one that passed his fumbling lips. Richie knocked his glasses back down onto his nose as his guilt manifested, before absently touching his scar again.

“Not to hang out with them, I know.” He said, doing his best to ignore the shame that was trying to eat him up from the inside. “That’s not the point though. The point is Eddie wants me to work for him for whatever reason and I’m freaking out about it.” 

Bill clicked his tongue. “Y-you really sure it’s hu-him?”

“I know it’s him.” The same sad brown eyes, a smattering of freckles, his hair swooping over his forehead perfectly... So different from Patrick or Henry or even himself in how graceful and small he seemed. “I just don’t know what it means, Bill.”

They talked for a bit more after that. Of maybes and somehows and possibilities concerning the situation before Bill mentioned that he had errands to run. “Kuh-keep me in the loop.” His friend told him before signing off for the day, leaving Richie to his own devices in the growing darkness of his room as the sun began it’s descent.

*

They were making it happen.

Beverly hadn’t even called to set up a meeting, instead just showing up at their place in athletic wear with her eyes bright and cheeks flushed. Richie never understood effortlessly pretty girls like her, who seemed to defy logic itself, but she managed somehow. “I still can’t believe this is actually happening.” She babbled as his mother poured her a cup of tea. Rich sat opposite to her, still sporting sleepwear, not quite on the same level as her yet. “They sent the e-mail while I was on my run and I just… I had to come over ASAP.”

“We appreciate it, Beverly.” Maggie said with a tired smile, taking the seat next to Richie. “So, what exactly is… this going to end up being like?”

Bev flipped her phone towards them on the table, beginning to scroll down page after page. “They’ll give you the rundown in person this afternoon, but basically Richie has to ‘earn’ the exact amount in damages that were caused, plus the five hundred dollars. I’m going to propose a clause that gets you that money too if you end up being found innocent and if the money is returned. It’s only fair that way.”

His mother made an approving noise, scanning the document idly as she did, and while Richie had a feeling he ought to commit to reading alongside her, he just couldn’t wrap his head around it. “They didn’t outline most of the tasks, but from what I’m assuming it’ll be standard cashier-slash-employee work. Of course, they’ll also have to take into consideration your injury, so we’ll get that settled as well.” Bev glanced up at him, tilting her head slightly to the side. “Do you have any questions about any of this, Rich?”

Too many. Not enough. “I just… don’t know where to start. I’m still shocked they’re doing this.” He confessed, causing his mother to make a worried noise in her throat. “You seem like a smart woman, Beverly…” He lead in.

Again, she leveled that glorious eyebrow raise of hers at him. “God, I would hope so.” She said dryly, mouth quirking to the side in response.

“Then tell me is there any reason I  _ shouldn’t _ do this.”

Now the other eyebrow was joining the other, making for quite the surprised expression upon Miss Marsh’s face. His mother was starting to say something but Bev held her hand up, effectively bringing a quiet over them. 

“If don’t know if this is what you want or need to hear right now, but I’m giving you the cold hard facts of what happens if you don’t take this. We end up going to court somewhere down the road in the next few months. If your testimony doesn’t change as you gave it to me, you end up getting sentenced to jail. It’s extremely common for stealing to land you with six months behind bars, plus one thousand dollars in fine by the state itself. That’s not counting the fact that you damaged property and also owe the Kaspbrak’s five hundred dollars cold hard cash.” Bev sighed through her nose. “I would not recommend you  _ not _ taking this offer, Richie, because it’ll bite you in the ass down the road. You told the officer’s you were looking for a job this summer anyways. This seems to be the perfect middle ground.” 

Did he tell her about Eddie at the hospital bed? Not with his mom here, at least. Maybe later, before they went to sign the papers officially before he sold over his soul. “I just wanted to make sure.” He told her, wringing his hands under the table. 

“Of course, and this is why you’re paying me too.” She chuckled before gulping down what was left of her tea. “From what I understand, this is a real down to Earth place. You couldn’t ask for a better opportunity to fall into your lap, Richie. So trust me when I say take it. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

Richie just hoped she wouldn’t be wrong in the long run.


	3. Chapter 3

-Eddie-

He had been hoping, praying, sending thoughts up to the sky that his mother would claim a sick day like she always did and stay in bed when Richie Tozier arrived.

Sonya Kaspbrak had been a good person, once upon a time. A mother, a wife, a woman of virtue and consistency. She was the one that showed up to the first service the church allowed, the one with the rosary and the bible and at the ready aspirin tucked into her purse. It always came as a surprise that Sonya was married to Frank, most people in Derry would say, because he was loud and brilliant and unapologetic. He was absolute sunlight, as she was slow reveal of moonlight through the clouds.

Devil may care and morally upright, that was Frank and Sonya Kaspbrak compared and contrasted, but they made it work. At least… that’s what they were before the accident.

She was harder now than she had ever been, almost frigid, a neverending new moon. She spoke  _ at _ him instead of to him. Didn’t quite look in Eddie’s eyes, as if she could see parts of Frank in him too. Threading the needle of getting Richie ‘hired’ without her knowing what was really happening had been the hardest thing he had done, despite that.

But he had done it. He had actually done it.

And now it was literal minutes from falling apart.

More often than not Sonya didn’t set foot into Kaspbrak’s Florals in the aftermath of their lives. It was steeped in Frank, he had heard her murmur brokenly once in the middle of her prayers one night, and it’s presence was overwhelming to her. So she handled the paperwork and the bills and all of the adults things in their house above it while Eddie took to running it 9 to 5 every day, and they made it work.

But she was here, speaking to the contractor about getting the window fixed at 8 in the morning, her deep set eyes hollow as they took in the plastic wrap. “Hey ma.” He called gently as he descended the stairs, fiddling with his sleeve. “Everything alright?”

“I’m just getting an estimate on the glass replacement.” She informed him, only really half looking his way. His heart twisted with it but he told himself it was for the better. If this was going to be one of Sonya’s more detached days, then she might not even see Richie, not make sense of why he was there. He could train him in, call it half day, maybe ask him out to coffee afterwards, start getting answers...

Mystery solving was not aided by the fact that the boy in the center of it all was a dangerous kind of beautiful, a handsome he shouldn’t take note of. But he was. Oh he was with his finely tilled soil eyes and his feather black hair. Even with the industrial metal cutting through his pale skin and the dark patches under his eyes, he was the worst kind of lovely.

The kind of lovely he couldn’t even imagine beginning to have.

“I could have done that.” He told her, eyeing the other man nervously. “I was going to be up anyways.” She was gone though, studying the paperwork once more, her head bowed into it. 

Good. Awful. Just what he needed. Just what he couldn’t stand.

Compare, contrast.

Opposites attract.

His fingers twisted at his sleeve, suddenly hyper aware of how worn out the fabric was. That’s what happened when you fucked around with something for nearly a year. It got fuzzed out, ragged and frayed. That’s what his life felt like at this point. Like moths had flocked to it and chewed it up beyond recognition. 

God, Richie wasn’t even here and he was about to have a mental breakdown.

He ignored the way his mother didn’t meet his eyes (the way the other man did), slipping into the shop to start the day. There was all the little tasks of getting everything ready, such as pruning, sprucing, making sure everything was up to date. It was a slow season for florals, the end of summer beginning to creep in. They’d have to start thinking about ordering for homecoming soon… corsages and florals pieces to clip on… Thinking of things in terms of tangible absolutes, not the purple prosed and petaled poetics that his brain liked to fall into helped. Helped him stay grounded, stay focused, stay here.

“I’m sorry but we’re not open yet.” 

His fingers slipped just so, cutting the cypress blossom at it’s throat.

And there was Richie Tozier, warped through the plastic, looking stupid out of place in a white button up and dress pants of all things, his glasses balanced awkwardly at the end of his profilic nose. There was still the sharp cut of his hair though that not even his wild curls could amend for, the accent of the staples in his head.

Seven. Seven pieces of metal punched through his skin, keeping his head together.

They hadn’t even been able to staple anything together when the drunk driver had slammed into him and his father one year ago. There hadn’t been anything to put back together again.

“God.” He swore, his grip on the clippers tightening until he came back to himself. He put them down then and threw himself out the door, barging his way right into the middle of the conversation he couldn’t even let begin. “Oh wow! You’re here! You made it!” He yapped at Richie, not missing the way the other boy’s eyes bugged out in response. Sonya was watching the whole exchange warily, her own eyes the brightest Eddie had seen them in weeks, months even, and he couldn’t have that. “Come here!”

He threw his left arm around Richie, faking a loud and fond laugh, wincing apologetically at his mother over the other’s back. God, he was tall! He couldn’t be thinking that right now though, not when they were still toeing the danger zone. “I didn’t think you’d be here this early!” He prayed Richie could understand the urgency in his voice and body language, make sense of it. “With everything that’s happened, I even forgot to tell my mom you were going to stop by!”

“Oh.” He heard Richie murmur in understanding after a tense handful of seconds before his arms came around Eddie nice and tight. “I just got a head start, is all. I was so excited to see you.”

For a single moment in time Eddie allowed himself to enjoy the touch, melting into it. When was the last time someone had hugged him? Had touched him without knowledge or consequence? “Hope this isn’t a bad time or anything.” Something real slipped into Richie’s words and Eddie had to force himself to look at him. He was even more beautiful up close, smattered with pale freckles across his thin face and with hints of hazel in his dark eyes. 

“No. Never. Uh, come inside. Ma, I’m gonna- yeah.” He gave a sheepish laugh before nodding his head towards the glass replacement man. “Let you finish, then we can talk!” Somehow, his voice didn’t shake once the entire time. Didn’t even so much as crack. “C’mon Richie. Let’s go inside and I can show you around.”

-Richie-

Something wasn’t quite right in Kaspbrak’s Florals, and oddly enough, it wasn’t his fault.

Eddie had all but yanked him into a back office, going so far as to lock it before turning to him. He opened his mouth to talk, but Richie started first. 

“She doesn’t know, does she?”

Richie wouldn’t ever call himself a smart person, but he wouldn’t call himself stupid either. He was in a nice in between spot, able to suss most things out. He recalled the way the older police officer had brought Eddie’s mother into the conversation and how he had gone deathly pale in response. How neither Eddie nor Sonya had been there when he had gone to sign the papers off. “If this is as important as you’re making it out to be, you think you would have taken a moment to give me a heads up.”

“I didn’t think she would be up.” Eddie looked panicked as the words rushed out of him, his dark hair falling over his forehead, all tousled up. That had happened when they had hugged, Richie realized belatedly, the force of it knocking both of them off balance, out of their familiar orbits and into a strange, shared one. “She doesn’t… I was going to tell you later…” He was doing another thing Richie had noticed in the police station too. Worrying his right sleeve, so much that you couldn’t even see his fingertips. “I wasn’t expecting the morning to start like this.” He finally pushed the explanation out weakly between clenched teeth.

Richie leaned himself back into the office chair, a cracked and plastic thing, and let out a low breath in response. “Can we… start at the beginning?” Because any other time he’d hit the ground running with it, but he didn’t know Eddie, and he had lowkey signed over his life to him, not to mention there was still the fact that this could be a trap that only he and Bill knew about. 

So yeah, an explanation would be nice, at least somewhat.

When he didn’t say anything Richie sighed and leaned forward instead, running his hands across the fabric of his dress slacks (of which extremely out of place next to Eddie’s light jeans and long sleeved pullover top.) “Alright. I’m going to assume your mom doesn’t know I’m working here. I’m  _ also _ going to assume that this isn’t something you were expecting was going to be a problem given how freaked out you are right now, right?”

Eddie gave a quick nod, looking embarrassed, still not speaking outright. That was fine. Richie could talk enough for the both of them. “I mean... is it because of the ongoing investigation?” Richie tried casually, hoping to get something, anything really, out of him.

Eddie looked at Richie then. Really, actually  _ looked _ at him. This wasn’t the same Eddie Kaspbrak that had stood over his hospital bed. Nor was it the one who proposed this crazy idea in the first place with only overhead lights to highlight him. This was just some kid, some guy that couldn’t be a year older than him, looking absolutely gutted and terrified. “Eddie.” Richie didn’t think he was capable of speaking so softly, so carefully, and yet here he was. Speaking as if he was some kind of injured animal... “Help me help you. Talk to me.”

“She doesn’t do anything with this shop. Not since my dad died.” Eddie blurted, so sudden it was almost  _ violent _ in it’s delivery. “It’s been my responsibility for a whole year ever since his funeral, and so I didn’t want her getting involved in any of this. But it hasn’t legally been signed over to me because she wants to sell it, and that’s why I’m freaking the fuck out!” 

He gulped in a big breath and tipped his head back, blinking rapidly as his throat bobbed. He for sure wasn’t any Patrick and Henry, that was for sure. Not when he seemed so damn delicate. “Jesus. Okay. That’s alright.” A little heads up would have been nice but Richie could work with it, especially if it worked out in his favor. That’s what he kept telling himself, at least. “So what? I’m an old friend visiting? Is that what you want to go with?” He gave Eddie his best winning smile, hoping to cheer him up. “S’good thing I took an acting class before I graduated.”

Eddie made a wet but happy noise, his gaze still focused ceiling up. “Uh, y-yeah. Just… just for now. I’ll mention that we knew each other in elementary school or something, and that you heard about the accident and wanted to reconnect. That’ll… that’ll get her to not stick her nose into it. She can’t stand this damn place.”

And Richie almost couldn’t blame her. Couldn’t believe Eddie managed it. There was a story there. One he was almost interested in finding out. “Cool. Awesome. That’s… mostly manageable. What about the part where I’m just here like, full time?”

“She won’t be around.” Eddie tried to reassure him, but Richie snorted loud enough to get him to stop.

“Yeah, you had that thought in your head less than half an hour ago, and how did that go?” No, hoping for the best wasn’t going to cut it, they needed a game plan. “You need help around the store, and I’m volunteering. It’ll look  _ amazing _ on my resume.” Richie said smugly after a minute, snapping his fingers in a satisfactory way.

“You know, if you were trying to get me to think you weren’t a criminal mastermind, this is like… the worst way of doing it.” Richie nearly choked at that but then Eddie was laughing and Richie could have sworn it was like hearing your favorite song on the radio. All kinds of bubbly and soft, like coming home. “It’s funny. You’re funny. What are you wearing?!”

“I thought I had to look professional!” Richie spluttered, the change in conversation course surprising him.

Eddie gave another inexplicable laugh, cheeks flushing with it. “You look like, like you’re going to give a presentation on the fall of the Berlin Wall for your eighth grade final. Jesus Christ.”

Richie grinned, unable to help himself, the image flowering to life in his mind with Eddie snickering at him in the front row. “Well, now that would require a good number of notecards, Edds.”

The moment quelled and they settled in response. Into their skin, into the room, into the moment that they were sharing. Eddie’s head cocked just so, like a bird, lips parting at the nickname that Richie had just now bestowed upon him. “I should… We should probably get out there. I’ll show you how everything works. Not much is going on so we can close up early too. Blame it on the window repairs, something like that.” Richie thought he flew by the seat of his pants, but Eddie was really winging it. “They said, in the paper work, that you have incidents.”

That made it sound like he shit himself, which Richie wasn’t too keen on. But beggars couldn’t be choosers, he supposed. “Sometimes I’ll have lil woozy spells, minor nose bleeds. It’s nothing too worrisome. Just gotta sit down, drink some water, you know. Hydrate a bitch.” 

“Well. Just let me know.” It looked like he wanted to say something else, but he was opening the door, revealing Kaspbrak’s florals in it’s entirety to Richie, so much different in the daylight now that he was getting a really good look at it. “But I think it’s time we opened up shop, Rich.”

It truly was surreal being in the very place he had snuck into with no intention of ever coming back. “I’ll probably have you working the register, for the most part. The flowers are real picky when it comes to being fed. We mainly do bouquets, plus we sell seed packets, succulents, local artist’s pottery and vase work. You don’t have to worry about like, big stuff. The lilac bush outside is done for the season and that’s the only shrubbery we really have, plus we don’t have any trees on the lot.”

Eddie had fixed his hair again and had that solemn look about him as he continued to list the facts off, well beyond his years, whatever those were. Richie supposed that’s what came from running your late parent’s shop for them with almost no help though. “Can I ask a super random question?” Richie said, fingers absently grazing some strange flower petal he didn’t know the name for. 

Eddie glanced back from where he was flipping the ‘We’re Open!’ sign, only half looking at him. “Mmm?”

Richie began to meander around the store, really getting a feel for the layout, poking a rubbery plant petal. “Like, how old are you? You seem way more in control of your life than anyone I know.” 

Richie looked up just in time to see Eddie blush faintly before looking away, reaching around himself to rub his right shoulder self consciously. “‘M nineteen.” He told his reflection, not even sparing Richie a second glance as he did.

“HUH? REALLY?” Only a year older than him then. Richie couldn’t believe that. He got up in the smaller boy’s face, starting to study him from the side. “You’re lying! I don’t believe it! You’re like, a fifty year old! You’re secretly an old man, like Benjamin Button, dude!”

“You do realize I’m your boss, right?” Eddie huff, his blush undeniably worse. “You’re not doing yourself any favors!”

“I mean, if anything, it’s a compliment. A testament to your maturity! A lauding to your experience!” He was doing it again, like he had before he had thrown the infamous rock, except he didn’t have alcohol to blame this time around. His brain was just listing off words, eager to get Eddie to make that laugh for a third time, hoping to hear that sound for the third time around. “Not to mention your skin care routine? Incredible.”

He saw Eddie dimple and press his lips together before shaking his head. “Let me show you how the cash register works, and then you can get to work Richard, instead of running your mouth.”

And while he shouldn’t be, not while the threat of Henry and Patrick and their threats still loomed over him, not while he still had these damn staples in his head, he was excited in a way.

Excited to see what would happen. Excited to start.

*

Richie learned a good number of things in his first day. The first and foremost being he was actually kind of stupid.

Since their cash register had been damaged during the incident (whoops), that meant Richie had to count everything out by hand, and that they were only taking cash in the meanwhile. So when the day started to pick up somewhat Richie had to quickly learn how to multitask, especially because the elderly of Derry were very fond in giving exact change once he had figured the first bit out.

They had so many questions about flowers too. Flowers he didn’t even know existed, couldn’t even pretend to know the name for, couldn’t even imagine what they even looked like. More often than not he’d yelp for Eddie in those moments, who’s presence came as a calming balm for all parties involved once he slipped into them. He knew so much, spoke so intelligently too. More often than not Richie would hear a Latin name slip off the older boy’s tongue from time to time, his expression becoming fond as he went into full detail about upkeep and how to care for them. His ownership of the store became painfully apparent then, especially when everyone called him by his name, told him how happy they were that the shop had opened back up. 

Richie swallowed his guilt down when those comments were made, hoping no one looked his direction when that happened.

But his favorite thing happened in the middle of the day, right before his lunch break. A young girl with purple hair and an ornate choker came up to Eddie, asking what kind of flowers it would take to make the perfect break up bouquet. “I like, really want her to know she’s a bitch, and that it’s over.” She professed, perfectly vicious.

Eddie blinked, then made a face Richie hadn’t ever expected upon his features. Sly and eager like a fox. He began to lead her around the store, plucking up all sorts of flowers of every shape and size and color, tucking them under his arm. “Is she familiar with floriography?” He asked her as they approached the counter together, keeping the blossoms close.

Her eyes flicked between them before she explained herself. “She is, but I’m not. So tell me what are we hitting her with.”

And Eddie just started saying names and words, things that just c _ ouldn’t _ be true but had this girl eating out of his palm. Begonias, yellow carnations, hydrangeas, yellow roses, morning glory, all adding up to a hefty meaning and hefty amount. “You could skip the roses. Those are almost too obvious.” Eddie mused, eyeing the total.

“No, I want her to know I know. Let her see those first, then figure the rest out.” She grinned her black lipstick grin at them and slapped a hundred dollar bill down. “Keep the change. You’ll uh, probably need it.” She said as her eyes slid to the window before Richie went about wrapping the flowers up.

Afterwards, he cleared his throat, forcing Eddie to turn in such a way it seemed as though Richie had pinned him on the spot. “Floriography, huh?” Richie drawled. “What kind of crock is that?”

His fine brows slanted and he hugged a set of orange tulips close to his chest. “It’s not crock, it’s a practice that’s been around for over a thousand years.” He sniffed and made his way over, feet gliding over the polished hardwood as he continued to explain. “Color and blossom both factor into the meaning, as well as the culture that they come from.” 

Richie resisted the urge to blow out a disbelieving breath. Eddie couldn’t be serious. None of that meant  _ anything _ . They were just flowers! Pretty looking and, if he was being honest with himself, almost inconvenient. They died in days, weeks if you were lucky, and as his now filthy dress shirt could prove, they almost made a huge mess. He was covered in pollen, a fact which he didn’t think his mother would appreciate when he got back. “Okay, so, tell me what those one’s mean off the top of your head.”

Eddie glanced in the direction Richie was pointing and gave a soft, excited noise before smiling indulgently at him. “Plumeria’s mean new beginnings, or perfection.” He said it so easily, right off the top of his head. Had Eddie spent countless nights pouring over books about this, or had his father taught him it? 

Questions and questions and more questions. Like any of them mattered. He didn’t have to care about why or how or what Eddie Kapsbrak did. This was just something Richie had to do until the rest of his life figured itself out. “If it’s okay with you, I think I’m going to take my lunch break now.”

Once again, he got that look about him, made even more obvious by the way he continued to hold the tulips up against his chest, as if cradling them. “No, of course, that’s more than fine.” He finally replied. “Take however much time you need. I’ll be here.”

Ask him to come with, something urged him from deep inside. Eddie had no right looking as sad as he did, no one did, but he couldn’t quite get the words out of his mouth. So Richie nodded his thanks instead and slipped out the front door, not realizing until he sat down at the nearest cafe that he hadn’t touched his staples since the other boy had hugged him hours and hours ago.


	4. Chapter 4

-Richie-

The first couple weeks of working at Kaspbrak’s Florals was, well, almost not worth mentioning. Almost like an afterthought.

Except almost not. 

When he came back from his break on the first day Eddie went about introducing to his mother, Sonya, saying that Richie was moving in to study at Bangor once the semester started up and that he would help out in the meanwhile. She had studied him, shrewdly almost, and then ghosted herself away, and that had been that.

He and Eddie worked around each other like clockwork from there on out, learning little things about one another like favorite foods and hobbies and mannerisms, the only thing keeping him from being his best self his god damn head. There would be times where blood would start falling onto the plastic, the room slipping away from him, and somehow every time Eddie was at his side, picking him back up, asking him if he was okay, if he needed anything, if he needed to take a moment to himself in the back office before getting back to work again.

He didn’t know whether to be grateful or embarrassed given that fact.

But Richie couldn’t deny that he hadn’t fucked with his head scar since he had started working here, and that he didn’t jump every time the front door opened anymore. Somehow, he was settling into this new life of his, not so much as aligned with Eddie’s as it was parallel to his.

Not even his bi-weekly check in with Beverly and the police could change that.

At least, that's what he hoped would happen.

It helped that it was the younger officer when he came in. Mike, his name tag told Richie after he focused in on it. Mike Hanlon. Mike seemed nice. Nice in the way that made your parents happy when you brought him home for the first time. Nice in the way you couldn’t help but smile in response when he addressed you directly with a grin of his own. “I’m glad to see you haven’t skipped town.” He told Richie as he sat down.

Richie slid into his seat and scuffed a foot along the ground, feeling mischievous. “Is that because that would make me look guilty, or because I _ am _ guilty, officer?”

Beverly, to her credit, only made a face at his awful joke. Mike, who was slowly growing on him, began to laugh. “I mean, anyone running off without any kind of warning raises all kinds of alarm bells, if we’re being honest here.”

They went through all sorts of questions with him about how the job was going, how Eddie was treating him, if he had any problems concerning it. “I guess just…” Richie started, blanching when two sets of hard, questioning eyes landed on him. “Jeesh, never mind.”

“No, go ahead and ask. Off the record book.” Beverly clearly trusted Mike too because she didn’t even roll her eyes at that, simply just smiled at him. 

“What… happened… to Eddie and Frank?” He had been too nervous to look it up, even at Bill’s prompting to dig up any information he could about the other male. “Because Eddie’s mom is ten kinds of fucked up over it and it’s obvious he is too, and I’m trying really hard not to step on any toes but-”

Richie looked up to find them glancing away surreptitiously. Looking almost… pained. “How bad was this accident?” Richie’s whisper strangled itself, the worst coming to mind.

“...Bad…” Bev finally uttered in a quiet voice, biting her nails. “Very, very bad.”

-Eddie, before-

It had been dark. Unnecessarily so.

Nick Drake was playing on the radio and his father was singing along, cutting through the night like a bullet, as he was prone to do. Never dangerously fast, but just fast enough to get them home before Eddie’s mom gave him crap for it.

“So, what do you think?” The farmer they normally went with for Christmas wreaths and mistletoe and holly had passed and his family was keen on selling his property, so they been hunting for someone else together these past few weeks. “I mean, Christmas trees sure would be nice.”

“Is the city council going to let you sell a bunch of pines on the street, dad?” Eddie snorted. “Because they don’t really seem the type.”

“You’re friends with the Uris’s kid, right? You can put in a favor for your old man!”

Eddie had laughed at that before letting his eyes drift to the inky dark outside. It was crazy to think that they were even starting to look at things for Christmas, but now that he was eighteen, now that he had graduated, his dad wanted him to start taking on some responsibilities. 

Nothing wrong with a head start, sport. Frank would say, ruffling his hair.

Pink Moon was playing softly and Eddie closed his eyes, letting out a pleased sigh. These were his favorite moments. Just him and his father sharing silence, enjoying it together. As loud and boisterous as Frank could be, Eddie knew his dad could be careful, considerate, gentle…

Those sides of him were saved for Sonya and Eddie and for the flowers too.

“I’ll think about it.” Eddie chuckled fondly, sleepy almost, opening his eyes.

And that’s when he saw it.

The Grim Reaper in car form.

-Richie-

Fatal car collision. Frank Kaspbrak’s death immediate. And Eddie. Eddie pinned between metal and glass, between life and death itself, all at the hands of a man by the name of Bob Gray.

Bev told him everything, interrupted only by Mike who provided more details or cleared things up. Bob had died at the hospital, and Eddie.

Eddie had his arm chopped off.

The eggs his mom had made him for breakfast tossed inside his stomach, threatening to come up and out of him. “Jesus Christ.” How had he not heard about this? How had he not known? Eddie was homeschooled, he tried to tell himself. And you were what? Fucking around with Patrick and Henry, barely making it by. But he should have known. His parents should have told him. Something should have added up.

“I didn’t think it was necessarily relevant to the case, but after Eddie offered the deal and it went through, I started to do some research.” Bev told him and he felt sick, going so far as to rip his hand away from her when she tried to reach out. “Richie…”

“And you didn’t think you should tell me about it?” And what? Why? She was right, a smarter side of him told him insistently. It wasn’t relevant at all to what he had done, what he was even doing right now, matter of fact.

Except it did, it was, because Sonya was a dead woman walking and Eddie…

Eddie was fading fast.

The flower shop was the only thing he had left of Frank and Richie had _ desecrated _ it. God, not even past tense. It was all in the present. He was living a lie, he was ruining everything, he was…

“Richie.” Mike tried to caution but he was spiraling out of control. He shoved out of the chair, the air rushing out of him. He remembered the way Eddie touched his sleeve, the way he only used his left hand when grabbing and gripping and moving things.

Chopped, chopped, chopped.

For the first time he was thankful that Derry was so small because he was at the shop in what felt like seconds but was probably more like ten minutes or so. He was sweating under his jean jacket and ripped pants, but none of that mattered because there was Eddie. Eddie fucking Kaspbrak, a batch of egaltine roses spilling out of his arm and onto the floor when Richie all but slammed into the store.

No one moved, no one spoke, but then Richie’s eyes slid to Eddie’s right sleeve and the world slowed down in response. He shouldn’t have. But he couldn’t help himself. He kept thinking about how Beverly had described it.

Nothing redeemable, nothing to sew or fix up. Not even seven staples pressed into muscle and skin could save it. Chop. They hadn’t even said amputated. They had said _ chopped. _ Eddie’s eyes grew to the size of dinner plates in his face. “Edds.” Richie began, despite not knowing where to go with it.

“...Don’t.” He knew. Of course Eddie did. How many people had read his story in the news only to slide the same pitying look towards him and mouth some sympathy about his dad. “Please. _Don’t_.” He was breaking. Even further than he already had been when he had stepped into the interrogation room.

Richie had done this. Richie had caused this. He had thrown the rock, he had fucked up.

A thousand words rushed to his lips, but none of them came out.

Because he was falling, and he couldn’t stop himself.

-Eddie-

He was in Richie’s hospital room again, this one different, but not. They were all liminal spaces like that.

Being in this hospital never sat well with him. This was the place they had made him less, not quite whole. This was the place where he had woken up and they had told him he didn’t have a father anymore.

The nurse aide was a larger male with plain brown hair and the biggest smile Eddie had ever seen. “He’ll be awake soon. You were right to bring him here, but it’s also not the biggest deal in the world, if that makes sense.” Both of Richie’s parents were on their way, so soon enough he wouldn’t have to be here.

But he wanted to stay. God he wanted to. Despite Richie knowing his awful truth now. Despite his unnecessary embarrassment. He fixed his right sleeve absently instead, ignoring the feeling of his much-hated prosthetic brushing back.

“I’m going to get a few things for when he wakes up, so I’ll let you hang out here. My name’s Ben if you need anything. Ben Hanscom.” He offered his hand then and Eddie forced himself to take lift his left hand up. “Remote’s there, and pager’s here, and yeah! Be back in a jiff!” He left them and Eddie almost laughed when he realized how weird it was to be here again.

He turned to Richie instead, fixing his hair with his good hand. “I wish you didn’t know.” Because when people knew, they treated him differently. He was a victim once they knew, a walking talking tragedy that shouldn’t even be here anymore. “But you do, and I guess there’s no going back from that.”

Monitors beeped in the distance and voices swelled up from down the hallway. He could see Richie surrounded by flowers in that moment, blooming in the silence between them. Dahlias and gardenias and roses abound. Everyday Eddie had a new flower to name for him, and every day he had to keep that secret bouquet to himself.

He stood and touched his right sleeve again, drawing in a deep breath. “I’m glad you’re not dead.” Eddie whispered before he could help himself, hoping Richie couldn’t hear him. “When I saw that bloodstain, I was almost certain of it. But then I saw you in that interrogation room and you were…”

Alive. Glorious. Everything he could imagine and more, despite maybe being the man who had done all of this.

Eddie sighed and it left him on a trembling breath. “You laughed, and no one had laughed at something I said in forever, and I felt normal. Normal for the first time in a whole year. And you were different, and I just…”

He had felt whole and real.

He closed his eyes and leaned down, pressing his lips to Richie’s temple, just under where the scarline began. “I’m sorry.” He said, his voice soft and sad.

And then, before Richie could wake up, he turned on his heel and left.

-Richie-

“Okay, w-wait, go b-buh-back. Wh-what now?”

“I woke up in the hospital, Bill.” Richie groaned, changing the channels without even really looking at them, his mind completely elsewhere. “After just, crashing through Eddie’s front door like a psycho!”

“D-did you buh-buh-break more guh-glass?” Bill moaned, sounding terrified.

Richie scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Is that what you’re getting hung up over?! Jesus, man, no!”

He was still in his damn hospital bed, ignoring the jello cup the boy named Ben had put in front of him, currently hating himself. “But I probably totally screwed the pooch with Edds! He’s gonna hate me! He probably thinks that _ I _ think he’s a freak.” But he wasn’t. He was just a boy. A boy who Richie was starting to care for.

God, this was so dumb.

He heard a knock at the glass pane and glanced over, finding Ben at his door again waving at him. Richie made a face, unable to help himself, tired of being here, of talking to people he didn’t care about. “Can it wait?” He called over, ignoring how Bill was needling him from miles away. “I’m kind of on the phone.”

“Your attorney’s here though!” Was that a flush on Mr. Hanscom’s cheeks. How interesting. He shouldn’t care about said matters but at least it seemed like someone was having a good day out of all of them. “She just… she’s uh, very insistent on seeing you.”

Richie blinked and sighed irritably, pressing his teeth into his lip. “...Of _ course _ she is. Bill uh, I gotta call you back.”

“R-Rich!” Bill began frantically, but he had already hung up.

When Beverly entered the room she was more storm than woman, her red hair flying about. “Richard James Tozier.” She growled at him, heels clacking on the linoleum. “What the fuck have you done?!”

Richie pointed an accusatory finger at Ben, not caring if he was throwing him under the bus. “That one informed me I passed out due to stress!” He squawked. “Something that is very likely to happen again, so I would watch your tone, Miss Marsh.”

“My-!” Oh, he was a bastard. He just couldn’t help himself. She bared her teeth at him and leaned in, apparently uncaring of his current physical and mental health. “Eddie’s attorney called, Richie. The deal is off.”

Oh.

No.

Richie startled, the world swimming with the action, fluorescent lights blinking in and out. He heard Ben give a worried sound and then he snapped back into the present with them. “I’m fine, I’m fine.” He lied, because he was not fine, but that didn’t matter. “What do you mean, the deal is off?”

“I don’t _ know. _ He sends me an email saying further details will be provided tonight.” She looked panicked too, uncertain of herself, words falling out of her. “This is bad!”

“I just need to talk to him.” If he could just get the words up and out of his throat, the explanation, then it would work out. That’s what he kept telling himself, at least. Even if it was complete bullshit. He tried to push off the bed but the world dip and swayed once more, threatening to take him with it.

Beverly’s red lips were the only constant that he could hang onto, forming words to drill into his conscious. “No, you’re not going to talk to him, you’re going to talk to Mike and me, and we’re going to get to the bottom of this.” Could he tell her? Should he tell her? Would he tell her? 

He saw Eddie in his mind’s eye, head bowed, heart heavy, too sweet for this world.

“Okay.” He told her. “Okay.”

*

It wasn’t just Mike and Beverly who learned his story, but Ben as well.

The story of what had really happened to him that night.

The story of how this had begun.

His parents had gotten caught up in some traffic jam driving in from Bangor, so they didn’t get to hear any of it. Of how Patrick and Henry had stolen the alcohol with his help, of how he threw the rock. “‘Course it was those punks.” He heard Mike mutter irritably, but otherwise, no one else spoke. When he got to the part about Eddie at his hospital bed Bev’s eyebrows shot up. “He knew… knew who you were, what was going on.”

“Maybe.” Ben offered. “I saw him a few times, he always just stood there, looking sad. Brought lots of flowers too.”

Of _ course _ he did. Richie’s heart ached with the idea of Eddie painstakingly picking each flower out. Flowers that he wouldn’t even see as his head healed up. “I thought… I thought I could figure bits and pieces out, but then the check up happened and-” He had been consumed by confusion and guilt. “He wanted to keep all of this a secret, he’s so worried he’s going to lose the shop. I just… I just wanted to help. It was the least that I could do.”

Beverly reached over and squeezed his hand, expression sympathetic. “No, _ this _ is what you could do, Richie. We’ve got… quite the case to go with here. We might even be able to get you off without any kind of write up.”

Mike gave a small snort and shook his head. “I don’t know about that, but I think we’ll be able to make it work.”

He felt so stupid now that he hadn’t just told the truth like Bill had told him to, but things had been different then. He had been too, in a sense. “I’m going to call Stanley, start figuring all of this out, bring the right people to justice and get them to pay up. Ben, could you… show me a quieter place to talk?” The nurse was up in an instant to help her, nodding eagerly as he showed her out, leaving him and the cop.

“...Thank you.” Richie said after a moment, causing Mike to cock his head. “You… you really did try to help before, when this all started.”

Mike waved his hand in front of his face, shrugging his broad shoulders back. “‘M too nice for this job. I’m probably gonna get in trouble for all of this. But it’ll be worth it. This is why I love it. Helping people that need it.” Never in his life had Richie expected to meet any people like that. The only good he had in his life was his family, and now there were strangers, complete fucking strangers, trying to help him out. “And you bud, you need it.” Mike grinned then, causing Richie to throw his hands up.

“Hey! Rude!”

“Oh, so you can dish it but not take it, I see how it is.”

They both began to laugh but secretly, deep down, Richie was getting anxious. It had been three hours since he had fainted in Kaspbrak’s Florals and he couldn’t stop thinking about Eddie. Mike’s expression became serious as their laughter died, his hands folding their way into his lap. “...You need a jailbreak, don’t you?”

Richie rolled his eyes behind his glasses. “Yeah, but that’s like, impossible...” 

Mike glanced over his back to where Beverly was yakking away on her phone, Ben watching her like an adopted puppy who had just found it’s forever home. “Mmm, I think we can make it happen, Rich.”

-Eddie-

Closing time was always the worst time. There was no denying it.

When his dad had been alive there was always music playing in the shop. He’d play it while he swept the floors, watered the plants, and counted out the cash drawer. Now, Eddie simply did it all in silence, secretly struggling with only one hand.

His thoughts were elsewhere too. In a hospital room with a broken boy, almost as broken as him. He had loosed Richie Tozier into the world, too shaken up by today’s events to hold onto him anymore.

Eddie stood in the center of the shop without even realizing it, in the exact place where they had found the pool of blood from Richie’s head. In the sunset, you couldn’t see it, couldn’t even imagine something so horrific had happened here. 

A shadow fell over him, and then-

“Edds.”

Richie.

There. His hand punched through the plastic wrap, holding a tulip out.

Of all the things to leave him Eddie was surprised he laughed. But he did, absolutely incredulous. “You…” He started, suddenly becoming teary eyed. 

“Me.” Richie managed. “I would have… would have knocked, but I didn’t want to scare you, and the door was locked.”

He snorted despite himself. “So you fucked my window up?”

“...Funny story about that.” Richie grimaced painfully. “Listen, fuck, can I… can I come in, please?”

Yes, no, _please_. Eddie slowly made his way over to the door, staring up at him. “You shouldn’t be out of the hospital.” He knew how long they kept you. How they locked you in. He saw Richie’s throat bob, nearly in tandem with his, and something in him gave at it. “You shouldn’t… I told them… it’s done, it’s over, you don’t have to be here.”

“But I want to be.” Richie blurted much too loudly into the emptiness of the room interrupted only by endless florals. “B-Because I think I like you, and I want to get to know you, and because I do feel bad-”

“About the accident.” Eddie cut in, panicked, knowing it was too good to be true. But then Richie was grabbing him, pulling him close. “Rich-”

“About being the asshole who ruined your dad’s store.” Richie hissed out.

Somewhere, cicadas were screaming. Summer was winding down. And here he was in his father’s flower shop with an impossible boy and his awful truth. “I have made… a lot of bad decisions. Bad decisions that you could very well hate me for. But I’m trying to move past it. I’m trying to be better, trying… trying to be the best I can.” They were crushing the sole tulip between them, not even an inch of space between them. “Because you showed up and saved me, Eddie Kaspbrak. Despite not knowing me. Despite having no reason to. You saved me.”

Richie opened his mouth to say something else. Something meaningful and poetic, Eddie was sure, but he couldn’t help himself.

He just had to kiss him.

Richie tasted like honey and clove. Like smoke and sugar. Like a million things that Eddie could fall in love with over the course of time. They were falling then, tripping back into a display of flowers, the blossoms spilling over them.

Arbutus, you are the only one I love.

Ambrosia, love reciprocated.

Primroses, eternal love.

And gorse, love in all seasons.

There was more. More than Eddie could make sense of or count, especially with Richie’s lips on his, but he had to brush them through his hair and over his scar tissue, fully cementing him into his mind’s eye as something beautiful and loved and his own, just like this store was.

“No Richie Tozier.” Eddie said, cheeks happily flushed, not even flinching when Richie’s fingers closed around both sets of fingers, real and not. “I found you, and I’m not ever letting you go.”


	5. Epilogue

“S-so this is the i-yin-yinfamous Richie Tuh-Tozier.”

Fall came out of left field in Derry, Maine. Slamming the residents with biting cold, ripping through the tree leaves, leaving them desperate for the too hot summer they had been cursing weeks ago.

“Fuck off with that.” Richie growled before opening his arms up for Bill Denbrough, who had finally (finally!) found a time to fly out here.

“Hey! Who said you could swear in the store, huh? I don’t think we agreed to that.” Eddie’s oldest friend and also his attorney was standing at the counter next to his boyfriend, hugging a pumpkin close. “I keep telling you Eddie, he’s on thin ice! You could take his ass to court for any of these misdemeanors.”

“He’s having fun, Stan. Let him live.” Eddie was smiling like none other, looking the happiest he had ever been. Bill was looking at him now, putting every picture Richie had sent of them together into perspective. “It’s nice to finally meet you Bill.”

Bill unwrapped himself from Richie with an unapologetic grin. “S-same. Ruh-Rich has told me al-yall about y-you, not to muh-mention this shop.”

Eddie’s eyes brightened under his mussy hair expectionally and Richie secretly wondered if anyone could guess that he had been the one to muss it half an hour ago in the break room kissing him. “And what did Richie tell you.”

“Th-that it’s y-yuh-your puh-pride and joy.” Eddie’s eyes met his and Richie shrugged easily. It was true. He knew it was. “And th-that I cuh-could get a duh-duh…”

“Discount.”

“Y-yeah!”

“I keep telling you. You gotta take him to court.” Stan murmured before skirting around them, giving Richie a fake warning look. “I did it once, I can do it again.”

“Awww, go home to your boyfriend.” Even more unexpected than Patrick and Henry serving time had been Mike and Stan’s instantaneous connection. But it was good, and made for even better double dates, especially when Ben and Bev joined them. “Let me live!”

“If Eddie’s not going to give you crap, I am.” Stan teased before slipping out the door, letting even more cold in. Bill moved closer to Eddie with a subtle shiver, who gestured openly with his uncovered right arm, the prosthetic now covered in intricate floral designs that Richie had picked out for it. 

Their eyes met for a second time as Eddie picked up a red rose, smiling at Richie over it, and without saying it, Richie knew.

Roses, after all, meant ‘I love you.’

He knew that now.


End file.
